The invention of the Treat Trolly happened last year.
We pick the perfect costume.
A taco or a donut.
A barista or a reindeer.
The music goes with the theme. "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch" fills the halls.
But the teachers don't care.

We plan the treats weeks in advance.
They must coincide with our outfits.
Candy for Halloween.
Tacos for Taco Tuesday.
Candy canes for Christmas.
But the teachers don't care.

We map out our route.
6th grade first to accommodate their schedule.
7th grade is next because they're always stuck in the middle.
8th grade is last but definitely not least.
But the teachers don't care.

We bust through their doors.
A dancing taco.
A creeping Grinch.
A prancing reindeer.
A jolly donut.
We freely pass out treats.
But the teachers don't care.

The teachers don't care what we wear.
They don't care what's in the wagon.
They don't care what's blaring from the speaker.
They just care that we're there.

They're thankful for whatever we pass out.
But they don't care what it is.
They giggle at our outfits.
But they don't care what we wear.
They love when we bust through their door.
But they don't care if they're 1st, 2nd, or very last.
They don't care how we show up or what we have.

They just care that someone is there.
They just care that they are appreciated.
They just care that someone sees them.
They just care that they are loved.

Thank you, teachers, you're the heroes in the halls.
Steady within the four walls.
You're the calm in the chaos.
Comfort through the hard knocks.
You're the safe among the fears.
Who hides their own tears.
And we'll continue to dress up.
Giving our speakers a bump.
We'll have candy to share.
But we know you don't care.